


All I Need is Some Sunshine

by becauseilovepaul



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Inspired by The Walking Dead, M/M, TWD AU, The Walking Dead AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 15:56:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9827543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becauseilovepaul/pseuds/becauseilovepaul
Summary: In this Walking Dead au, backpackers John and Paul get stuck in the Washington D.C. area as the United States finds itself in an epidemic where the dead are reanimated. With no way out, they're forced to do what everyone else is--survive the undead apocalypse.





	

**Author's Note:**

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“Well, it’s official. We’re fuckin’ stuck here in bloody America while an epidemic ‘sweeps the nation,’” John complained, air quotes and all. “Always knew I’d die young,” he said with a chuckle, plopping onto the hotel bed with a laugh. From his back, he nudged Paul with a knee and made a face.

“‘M not in the mood, John.” Paul’s voice was cold and harsh, his heart racing and palms sweaty as he refused to look away from the news; it was all he could do to keep it together. He was terrified. America’s capital was in a state of emergency and everyone was being ordered to stay in, and no one was getting out, despite the rocketing plane ticket sales to literally everywhere else in the world.

“Oh, come off it, Macca, you know good and well we aren’t going to die here over some American craze. This is no different than the fuckin’ Atkins diet or Kim Kardashian. In a week or two they’ll be over it.”

_That was 13 months ago._

In the time since, the world had fallen apart at the seams-- the world as they knew it anyway. The power was the first thing to go. Or was it the water? John couldn’t remember. As he sat here, a blanket wrapped around himself, he knew that they needed MORE, but it was his turn to be terrified. Things had changed significantly since their backpacking trip had been stalled by the epidemic. The dead had been burned at first; in situations where they couldn’t be burned, there were rumours of the people that had been declared dead from this _virus_ coming back to life, so to speak. They were horrible disgusting creatures, far worse than anything John had ever created in his mind. They were absolutely _horrifying_ to him.

John was pulled from his thoughts as the water began to boil and he steeped the last of the Earl Grey tea he’d found on the most recent supply run for Paul. He’d taken to drinking coffee himself as it was much easier to find, though, admittedly these days, that was becoming more and more scarce. The sound of dead feet shuffling along the street and the low, grisly moans that bounced eerily off the walls of the house sent a shiver down John’s spine, though he masked his fear with a smile for Paul.

 _ **Paul.**_

He’d been so strong and so solid through all of this; he was the only reason John was still alive and they both knew it. John didn’t like being in a group with anyone because he didn’t trust them. he didn’t think they were good enough-- and by his standards, they never would be. No one could live up to Paul McCartney. No one. 

Ever.

He poured out a cup of tea for Paul into a mason jar with a long scrap of fabric wrapped carefully around to avoid burning his hands and handed it to him. He had broken the rest of their cups and both had been afraid to tell anyone so they could get replacements. He was out of coffee, too. And smokes. Paul thanked him with a smile and he nodded, returning to the couch to write his daily letter to Mimi. 

Knowing John, Paul simply remained quiet, sipping his tea and watching him. The way his fingers wrapped around the pencil and formed words were just as mesmerizing as the way his lips did. His hands were so beautiful, regardless of what they were doing-- be it writing a letter, dancing over the fretboard of a guitar, steeping tea, or his favourite, running over every inch of Paul’s body. His teeth sank into his bottom lip as he noticed John’s lips moving ever so slightly. Paul cleared his throat softly, though he didn’t speak. Taking another sip of his tea, his breath left in a soft noise that made John look over at him, pushing his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose. “Remember when I used to sneak you into Forthlin?” Paul whispered.

The corner of John’s lip tugged upwards, a soft laugh leaving him. “No, Paulie, I’ve forgotten all about our childhood,” he teased with a knowing look, brows raising.

“Mm… right, right. Maybe I should remind ye,” Paul smiled. John frowned, though. His fear was getting worse and worse, building up. 

“Fuck off.”

“Fuck me?”

“I said, _fuck off_.” With that, John was up and clambering up the stairs of the house they’d managed to secure there in Alexandria. It was a nice set up, really, and the lady who ran the place, Deanna, her and her husband were working on getting power. Any day now they promised. Paul finished up his tea and went upstairs to find John letting his fingers press against the dark wooden fretboard of his guitar, not strumming, not yet-- not until the gate was up. 

“I love you, you know… even when you’re a git,” Paul said, a fond smile sketching across his lips.

John said nothing, though his fingers stilled.

“We should be a few hours, then the afternoon crew’ll take over. I can only work your shift for so long, Johnny…”

“I’d rather throw meself into a pit of those--”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Paul warned. “I hate it when you say that... “

“Those wasted sons of bitches,” John acquiesced, emphasizing ‘wasted’ with air quotes since Paul always begged him to call them that instead of the **grotesque** word John preferred to use. It made Paul cringe and shudder to even think about it. 

“Just… get up sometime within the next three hours, please, and check on the tomato plants out back, would ye?”

John nodded and Paul turned to walk away. John stood, setting the guitar on the bed with a soft, musical _thump_. “Paul?”

He stopped and turned, brows raised questioningly. “I love you, too,” John said softly. “‘M sorry... “ but he offered no explanation (not that he needed one, Paul knew exactly what was on his mind). Paul nodded, smiling and moved back over to where John stood, arms looping around the other’s neck, John’s arms resting comfortably around Paul’s waist. There were no more words spoken, only the sound of the other breathing was heard as their foreheads rested against one another.

Paul was the first to move, pressing their lips together slowly, desire tugging at his insides. He broke away with a heavy sigh and chuckled a bit. “Alright… I gotta get to work or I’ll end up not showing up at all and then we’ll both be in a load of trouble,” he smiled.

John chuckled as well, biting at Paul’s lower lip, pulling him flush against him roughly. “Hurry back, Paulie,” he said in a sing-song voice. 

Paul groaned and turned to leave, but not before stealing a kiss and slapping John’s ass before he ran off to his post to help with the wall that Deanna was so adamant about getting up. It wasn’t long before there was a knock on the door and John had to pull himself away from the guitar once more and headed to answer it.

“John?” Deanna asked.

“Who’s asking?” he smirked.

“Mr. Lennon, then? May I come in? There’s a few things we need to discuss about you and Mr. McCartney.”

“If you’re lookin’ for an autograph, we don’t want any,” he said, popping up onto the deep counters and twisting his legs underneath himself.

“Not quite,” Deanna said, a perfectly manicured brow raising at John. “It’s more of the fact that we’ve noticed you don’t exactly contribute around here, and as you know, our community thrives on the people inside it contributing equally and pulling their fair share of the weight. We’re only as good as our weakest link.”

John’s brows raised, arms crossing over his chest with a huff. “You’re sayin’ I’m the weakest link? Maybe you should take a look at Ronald two doors down. All he does all day’s sit on the porch and whistle at the girls when they walk by!”

“Ronald is in a wheelchair, John.”

“Yeah, and? If everyone needs to contribute, what’s _he_ doin’?”

“This discussion isn’t about Ronald--”

“Well, it ain't about me, either! Comin’ into me own house and calling me the weakest fuckin’ link, eh? I’ll fuckin’ show you a bloody weak link. Just fuckin’ try me!” John said, voice raised as he jumped down off the counter, reaching for a knife nearby.

“Pick that knife up, John, and we’ll exile you and Mr McCartney. Neither of you would last out there… well… he might,” she shrugged, a brow raising as she smirked, turning away. “Wouldn’t want those… _things_ to get you now would we?” she said, her head only turned back in the direction of John. Her words, however… they were worse than anything she could’ve done to him. His stomach flipped and he felt sick. Heat spread through his body and he thought he might vomit at the thought of the not-quite-dead teeth sinking into him. 

He ran into the bathroom, falling on his knees and clutching the rim of the toilet, panting and trying to calm down. He could remember the very first time he and Paul saw them. 

“What’s that?” he asked Paul, referring to the ghastly noise behind them. The streets were empty (unusual, though they didn’t realise it, being from England and all) and there was a shuffling against the sidewalk that made both John and Paul clench, their breath held in their lungs as they turned around. “Oh, fuckin’ bollocks! What the fuck is that?!” John yelled, drawing more of the horrific noise closer to him. There were five of them approaching them and they had no fucking clue what to do. Paul looked around, grabbing a street sign post that had fallen over that neither of them had noticed. He recalled hearing on the news that it was _imperative_ you strike them in the head, which is exactly what he did. Adrenaline surged in him as he swung the thing, the iron threatening to cut his palms as he connected with what used to be human heads. When they were all down, no longer moving, he noticed John who was crouching by a nearby car, sick over and again. 

Paul stood close by, ready to defend John, chest heaving. The rush of the adrenaline was warm and made Paul shake a bit, though he felt good-- useful for a change. It was a satisfaction like no other. John on the other hand was stricken with fear, paralysed by the sheer terror that coursed through his veins, not unlike the way the adrenaline ran through Paul. He couldn’t look over at the twice-dead bodies, and before he knew it, John was a sobbing mess, knuckles white as he clung to the bumper of the car. Paul offered a shaky, yet strong hand to John’s quivering, weak one and neither of them said anything explicit about what had happened for days. Paul, however, had made a plan. He’d understood that they needed something more than the hotel they were in, so he set out in search of more, coming across a neighbourhood that claimed to be self-sufficient, and doing everything he could to get himself and John in as the chaos grew. It wasn’t until complete anarchy happened and more people lost their lives (once and twice over) that they were able to get in good with a woman who used to be in congress.

It was what they needed, end of the world or not. A place where no one knew them, where they were free to be themselves and didn’t need to hide the fact that John and Paul were lovers as well as best mates. They were accepted into the community, physically and mentally right off the bat. Paul proved to be an excellent handyman, repairing minor things and helping out with hard labour. John on the other hand… 

John kept to himself, only speaking to Paul for the longest time. They’d been in here for nine months, now, and he’d only just begun speaking to their neighbours. He was content to sit inside all day and watch everything from the bay window in the master bedroom upstairs.

This was exactly where he sat now, feening for a cigarette something awful and watching the kids play in a street devoid of cars and other hazards. Everything was mostly safe inside the walls now. It should be finished today or tomorrow. John licked his lips and smiled as he spotted Paul walking back. He debated about not telling him about Deanna’s threatening visit, but word would likely get to Paul soon if it hadn’t already.

“Wanna wash up with me?” Paul asked, peeling his sweat soaked shirt from his body and tossing it into the dirty hamper. John nodded, teeth scraping over his own bottom lip as he watched Paul.

The sound of the shower was a welcome distraction from the incessant groaning John always seemed to hear over everything. The patter of the drops against the cool tile of the shower floor was almost as soothing as the warm water as it cascading over John’s shoulders. Paul stepped in next, his hands following the path of the water and letting the pads of his fingers run over John’s smooth skin. “How was your day?” Paul asked.

“Lady Deanna stopped by for a proper chat,” he smirked, teasing Paul. 

“A _what_?” Paul asked, incredulously, thinking there was no way that John had bedded her. At least… hoping he hadn’t.

“Called me the weakest link here. Didn’t give me a trophy, though,” he sighed, his eyes betraying his cool, uncaring tone.

“The weakest link? What about the bloke in the wheelchair?” Paul spat, brows furrowing.

John’s finger reached up to trace over the seemingly ever-growing length of Paul’s beard. John wasn’t complaining about Paul’s new trend in facial hair. He especially liked Paul’s moustache. “I think I’ll grow out a moustache of me own,” he announced after a few moments of silence.

“John. What else did she say?”

“Something about if I didn’t pull me own weight, she’d have us both bugger off… _exiled_ , she said. Like we’re Romeo bound for Mantua or some other bollocks. I don’t know. I don’t like her. She’s a right cu--”

“Johnny, please. Stop,” Paul cut him off. “Told ye I couldn’t work your shifts, love,” Paul said softly, cupping John’s face and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “And I think you’d look quite dashing with a bit of a moustache,” he breathed.

The thing about Paul was that no matter what was going on, he could read John like no other. He knew what to say to diffuse the ticking bomb that was John Lennon in a matter of a single sentence, or sometimes, just a touch. The way his fingers slid down John’s neck as the water did was currently doing the trick. John let himself fall against his lover’s body, his own hands flat and exploratory over Paul’s chest as though he was memorizing it all over again. Both of their cocks twitched and John’s kisses, like Paul’s, became heated and needy. Their tongues tangled together as John’s leg looped around Paul’s waist in a way that always made Paul chuckle and smirk; John’s ability to twist himself into any position needed never failed to amuse Paul. 

“It's been awhile,” Paul whispered as his lips kiss swollen lips moved against John's neck.  
John's fingers curled in Paul's hair, tugging him close and nodding, the softest yes leaving his own lips. The fact of the matter was, John’s crippling anxiety had caused him to shut down physically and for a man once labeled sex-obsessed (like that time they'd traveled to Hamburg and been on the Reeperbahn with any and every kind of sex available to him, and yet he still needed his dirty magazines) this had been something Paul needed to get used to.

But John was ready and so was Paul as he sank down onto his knees, batting his eyelashes up at John like he liked just before taking him into his mouth entirely. He only choked a bit, but soon he was completely relaxed and back in the swing of things. One hand held John's hip, the other massaged his balls, gently rolling and tugging a bit. The sensation was long overdue for John and his hands grabbed at the wall for purchase. He moaned, soft at first, then increasingly louder as curse after curse spilled from swollen lips. Paul moaned as well, making sure to drag it out long and low. 

John looked down to be met with big doe eyes as he let both hands tangle in his hair. He licked his lips, “Oh, fuck, Paulie…” John's hips thrust forward a bit with another breathy moan as his lips tugged upwards. Why had he denied Paul and himself this for so long? He couldn't recall at this point, the way the pleasure seemed to take over, covering him in a warm blanket and bringing a sense of peace and tranquility despite everything going on outside the walls of their own home.

“Paulie… I…. I'm close…” he breathed out. Paul nodded after letting his length slip out of his mouth for a moment..He continued to stroke him, grinning up at that beautiful face he loved so much. “So let go for me, darlin’...”

It was all John could do to nod, gazing intently at Paul’s perfect, plump lips, slick with a sheen of saliva. Paul moaned the moment John's cock hit the back of his throat and that was all it took to send waves of pleasure crashing over John's entire being. Paul could feel the spurts as they came, making him moan more, another small choking noise as he remembered to relax his throat as John nearly doubled over, his hands now on Paul's back as he breathed heavily.

“Oi… I fuckin’ love you, Macca.”

Paul licked over John's length, making him twitch and shudder for a moment with a wicked grin before he pulled off and stood up,licking his lips with a hum. “I love you, too,” he chuckled. “There's only one problem now…”

“What's that?” John asked. Still grinning wickedly, Paul guided John's hands to his cock which was so hard and needy, Paul couldn't help but moan at the soft hand that wrapped around him. “Ah, I see… that does seem like a problem we should address,” said John, leaning to kiss Paul slowly. They'd be in that shower for awhile, that was certain.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at becauseilovepaul! If you enjoyed this, please leave kudos and comments!


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